


Recall

by silentsoundy



Category: Transformers: Prime
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-06
Updated: 2014-11-06
Packaged: 2018-02-24 07:16:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2572895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silentsoundy/pseuds/silentsoundy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Soundwave recalls that first spark-bonding experience with Shockwave.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Recall

**Author's Note:**

> ||snippet from a Tumblr RP where a deal was struck and his end of the bargain was to transfer this memory over to the other mech. Headcanon for this Soundwave (Gladiator) has him Conjunx Endura-bonded to Shockwave (Senator) before the war and revolution||  
> ||take note that text between --...-- takes place in the present, where the recalled memory is written between the -- -- -- ... -- -- --||

\--a hissing snicker leaves his frame, a chuff of cool exvent a secondary reaction, and the dark spy's optics dim before shuttering completely. His focus turns inward to transferring the memory file, and although it may be unwise to leave this particular Alternate to the ever-watchful scans of the lunar base's security systems, and his own tertiary sweeps, he's confident enough with their current agreement and tentative amicable status--

\--well then...--

{DATA FILE COMMENCING TRANSFER . . . }

\-- -- --

\--the first relevant ping of data of the recalled memory is one of a brilliant whitewash of blinding light, static-filled audials, and frame-clenching release. At this the spymaster's shoulders twitch, features curling a lopsided grin of sorts. After all, the request was a before/during/after perspective, was it not? And this particular bonding had begun as many of his and his Conjunx's visits had--

\--that is to say, in a less core-stimulating manner and that of a more corporeal urgency--

\-- -- --

Bleached optics illuminate to fade in their current surroundings, and hints of location, time, era, and present company were all subtly noted. Kaon, a private habsuite, the waning Golden Age, and one rather distracted Senator pre-Empurata and pre-Shadowplay. The suite was nondescript, details disregarded to focus on the view, which was indicative of high status, wealth, power and position. Clearly not the Gladiator's property, not that he cared given the purpose of such a venue. He would have been content to continue their rendezvous as they have been for so very long, in cached shadows secreting themselves from prying optics and the far reaches of a certain Warlord-to-be. But the Senator had insisted on upgrading their location, justifying the purchase of said suite on some frivolous excuse concerning his career, political motives, contacts, and whatnot.

The Gladiator, again, cared very little, amused, placating his partner with a wave of a servo, a flick of his helm and perhaps a subtle roll of his violet optics.

Their's was a world filled with ulterior motives and he would pry and bring forth the Senator's true intentions eventually.

"...▓▓▓▓▓▓..."

A designation gasped, that deep, rumbling tone of the Panzere's rolling from his vocalizers thick with static and white noise...

\-- -- --

\--the fact that his true designation was... censored? ...unable to be divulged at any rate has an optic ridge twitch and a slight frown forming at the corners of his mouth--

\--this was unexpected...--

\-- -- --

Before the Gladiator lay the Senator, those white-rimmed golden optics flickering to gradually illuminate and dim in the aftermath of their first physical release. Molten citrine whose cores were as sharp as ever iris tight as they recalibrate, widen as cognitive function returns to the Panzere. There is static exchanging between their frames, claws hooked into metal with tips piercing to grasp at protoform, enamel swapped, sparks skittering out from between them.

And that smile whose initial appearance had captivated the Gladiator, quite unwillingly truth be told. Confident, now that pomp and pretense have been swept aside, on the edge of a triumphant smirk given their activities.

The Gladiator chuffs, moves to release pinned wrists and runs a set of thicker claws over those solid, strong, squarer features, light and leaving no trace. A simple, intimate gesture shared between them where words have no place. He grinds their metal with the intent of perhaps wiping that satisfied, conquering snark from his partner's visage, the ministration rough as they remain coupled together.

"...▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓..."

He mocks the Senator's tone, the other's designation growling from his own set of vocalizers when the sought after reactions are obtains. A sharp gasp, narrowing optics, curling claws, sparks and enamel shifting between them. His turn to grin.

"I'll not let you leave until you've repaired these little transgressions against my frame..."

Thickly accented Tarnian, the language curling to rumble even when whispered in these shadows. More dialog is exchanged as either mech is quite unwilling to part frames at the moment. A game of theirs played out during the exchange of each other's exvents and static. Idle, witty, and insipid banter meant to goad and coax and test fragile limitations.

Kliks pass and the Gladiator has had enough of this foolishness and soon he has what is his in his feelers' grip and coils, seated to straddle his pelvic span as he himself adjusts to sit splayed on the cool metallic floor. Their frames have unlocked, arrays' temperatures reset to rise once more, and the telltale scents of ozone and spent resistors dissipate in the suite's ventilation systems.

The Gladiator takes pause and notes every minuscule detail of his Senator's posture, frame, and demeanor. Features etched into his memory banks flicker with a curious amusement, a silent inquiry as to what stalls him from claiming the Panzere once more. Quite unwillingly his EM field unfurls from his core, a quick lash of selfish, greedy desire expanding past any physical expression his lusts and desires could convey.

He recoils tightly and frowns.

"...I had thought you stronger of mettle, Gladiator, to take and claim what your spark craves."

"And what is it you think I crave, Senator?"

The Panzere's face plates are flushed with heated energon, his core's temperature steadily rising, his protoform taught, his frame tense, and through the Gladiator's perspective, he cannot be more alluring, more desirable than he is now, even as his words ripple his dark armor and rankle his shivering, biolit protoform.

What he wants...

Feelers constrict until whispers of protesting plating can be heard, claws turn to dig into the exposed protoform of that upper chassis, and his systems ping muted warnings of the appearance of beading energon. And for all his cruelty, those narrowed, molten, golden orbs remain transfixed on his, gaze unwavering. The Panzere is unmoved, his flinch a minute and inconsequential physical reaction to that flash of anger and uncertainty the Gladiator expresses.

"You've taken sparks in the Pits, taken helms and trophies and cortices and have left mecha shells of nothing without remorse and second thought..."

The Senator's servos lace digits through tines, thumbs to settle under optic sockets and ridges, claws to curl behind his helm's intakes, and he holds his partner steady through the lancing pain skittering over his neural net.

"...And for all your prideful accomplishments, you're unable to lay claim to the one hunger that drives your spark, Gladiator..."

And just as his field had betrayed him, the Panzere's uncoils from his core, willingly washing over him those unspoken sentiments.

Those violet optics widen and stare...

\-- -- --

\--the dark spy grimaces, having this ancient memory recalled and relived once more raising in him sentiments he had rather kept archived and tucked away. Still quite focused on the transfer, his face plates furrow in a concentrated scowl, and the datastream suddenly surges from him in a subconscious reply to his simmering ire--  
\--he broods not over these events per se, but over the subsequent results of what was to come, which, when musing over his past, leaves him in quite the volatile and undefined state...--

\-- -- --

There is a break in the recall, more static, more words censored, the scene twitching with an overlay of filtered white noise, yet the context remains much of the same. After the dark spy's surge, the hard line stabilizes and maintains the newly elevated rate of transfer as if a reflection of his mood heightens the experience. . .

On the outer rim of their vision, there is a brilliance emanating from their frames. Armor and plating having long been discarded for intimacy's sake, they are no strangers to sparkplay, having reveled in the physicality of their cores' contact. And it had always remains as such, a purely physical event and nothing more. Energies swapped, coronas and tendrils brushing to feather caresses barely on the edge of true transfers. Pure, physical stimulation, made to enhance the more brutal aspect of their physical coupling.

Even now as their very essences take up that familiar dance, as exposed and vulnerable and desperate as they are, the Gladiator puts forth exhausting effort to keep himself distant. He knows not why. And the Senator senses this hesitation, which for him has become as familiar as the very act itself.

It exhausts his own psyche to have his one desire locked away from him.

There is a blunt physical need for release, yet there is no pleasure this round as those words sink their sharpened dentae into the Gladiator's cortex, playing over and over at the subtle implications stated. Whatever amicable game played prior to the exchange has been expunged and a darkness quickly replaces it.

Their hard line crackles and snaps with overcharge, their cores shiver with discontent, their frames rut with a purely physical purpose.

"Show me then, what I crave, what I want from you. What you're demonstrating is... lacking, Senator..."

And the Gladiator's claws sink into the other's dorsa to drag down in thin slivers. He feels the heat of spilled energon drip along his servos.

"...Primus-damned... Insipid... You thick-plated, overcharged, stubborn..."

And a myriad of quite the unbecoming flurry of growling sentiments roll from the Panzere, the mood infecting and injecting into the situation a volatility short on becoming truly explosive, dangerous. Even as their crests meet to grind and nudge against each other, those gold optics flare with such rage, wide, challenging, a rawness that pierces the Gladiator's core for a single, split-nano-klik.

That moment of hesitation only fuels the Panzere's frustration, and he takes it upon himself to force upon his partner what the Gladiator refuses to acknowledge. 

Although the closeness of their frames make it impossible to witness the sparkplay, sensors, neural nets, arrays and the like trickle and flood systems all at once with feedback data. The scene before the Gladiator washes out in a literal flash of brilliance as the Panzere's core tendrils lash out in a wave of desperation and anger, latching on to his smaller, dimmer spark to pull it from his chamber microns closer to itself. His chassis whines a loud protest, a screech of utter shock at the unexpected display of aggression. Yet even as his corporeal self tenses to retaliate against this transgression, his very core, in turn, snaps forth his own barbed tendrils to latch on to the other's corona, sinking hooks into the first logical layer of the Senator's essence.

And it's the Gladiator that initializes the first connection and stream of exchanging core-code.

\-- -- --

\--as the feed progresses with a vividness that the spymaster thought had been lost to time and archival decay, he begins to trill to himself, quite unknowingly. His frame searches for some sense of comfort as the memory plays, his feelers' A.I. sensing the shift in awareness to subconsciously curl mandibles into his Alternate's metal, holding fast--

\-- -- --

Their frames fall still, gradually over the progression of the cycle as the focus snaps and shifts to focus on ensuring the bond's integrity remains steadfast. All animosity, all rage and confusion and stubbornness fall as if inconsequential, the roiling heat and churning of their sparks filling their fields and visions. It is pain and pleasure, desperation and patience, and everything that their vast and complicated languages are unable to define.

The Gladiator's sensory net continues to return data throughout the slowly progressing merge, and through their growing stillness the energon trickles, the transfluid transfers, the data pings. Yet the sheer encompassing act of the bond itself dulls overload and overcharge as if they are nothing. He has never been so thoroughly delved in to, never exposed as he is now.

And a new found hunger snarls from his very core at the realization that this mech coupled to him, his Senator is just as exposed and vulnerable.

He must take it all.

His EM field surges, his spark pulses once, tendrils coiling tight to push through that secondary barrier. He... he...

All that the Senator is is his, and in turn all that he is is the Senator's.

His internal chronometer measures two cycles having passed, yet it is as nothing, and when his corporeal cognition returns, there is a new-found calm settling over his thoughts. The perspective darkens, shimmers and frays around the edges, then gradually illuminates to focus on the other mech whose frame has yet to move even half a micron from their initial position. He murmurs the other's designation, completely unaware that their sparks have separated and chambers have sealed once more.

"...and now..?"

"And now..."

That coy grin edges those lip plates just as the Panzere's golden optics flicker online once more. The Gladiator's vents hitch and gasp, his perspective altered, and those once-endearing and slightly irritating traits taking on... he knows not what. There is difference, there is familiarity, there is...

"...beautiful..."

"Radiant, spark of my spark. Yours has always shined the brightest for me, my Light..."

\-- -- --

\--there is darkness, the recall fading to nothing more than a continuous stream of empty packets, and the dark spy refusing to relinquish the hard line just yet. A single, crimson optic illuminates, casting his Alternate a sidelong look, narrowed, sharp--


End file.
